Page 8 of Right Place, Right Time
‘Help what?’ I ask, looking down at my coat.
‘In case you fall off. You should always wear something with a lot of padding when you’re riding a motorbike – like I said, it’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.’ Adam has already pulled on a black leather motorbike jacket. ‘You’re notscared, are you?’ he asks, grinning at me. ‘You can get the bus back if you like and I’ll meet you there.’ He reaches for the red helmet.
‘No. Of course I’m not scared.’ I pull the helmet back towards me. But I can’t help staring at the bike.
‘Most people are a little apprehensive when it’s their first time,’ Adam says kindly. ‘It’s nothing unusual. I assume this is your first time?’
‘How did you guess?’ I shove the helmet on my head and attempt to tighten the strap.
‘Here, let me help you.’ Adam takes a step closer to me and I have no choice but to let him assist me.
I really don’t know where to look while Adam expertly adjusts the strap under my chin. I don’t want to look at the motorbike, but, similarly, I don’t want to look at Adam when he’s quite this close, either – it seems far too intimate. But Adam is definitely the lesser of two evils rightnow, so I have no choice. This close, I can see every bit of stubble on his face, and every line, which, rather than just being a result of ageing as I first thought, actually seems to have developed as a result of Adam smiling so much.
While Adam is tightening the strap, he glances away from my chin up into my eyes.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he says, smiling in that annoyingly relaxed way he has. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’ He finishes tightening the strap under my chin and then he steps away. ‘You look great,’ he says admiringly. ‘Like you’ve been riding bikes all your life. Motorbikes, that is – not penny farthings! It’s my attempt at an antique joke,’ he adds when I don’t laugh.
‘I know.’
‘Tough crowd! Right.’ He expertly swings one leg over the top of the bike. ‘You do the same, then you hold on to me, OK? Whatever you do, don’t let go.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall off and sue you.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ he says, as I not-quite-so-expertly climb onto the bike behind him and hesitantly put my arms around his waist. ‘I won’t be able to find anyone else at short notice to clear my grandfather’s house if anything was to happen to you!’ He turns around and grins. ‘So I kind of need to keep you alive!’ Then he winks before he pulls his visor down over his eyes and does the same to mine.
‘Ready?’ he asks in a muffled voice.
‘Ready,’ I reply, trying to sound relaxed and unconcerned about what’s about to happen.
‘Hold on tight now.’ I tighten my grip on his waist as Adam starts up the bike, then, with a roar of the engine, we pull away from the house and head down the long drive towards the gate.
The ride back into Cambridge is nowhere near as bad as I feared it might be. Even though I keep my eyes tightly shut for the first minute or so, once I dare to open them, I realise there’s actually something quite freeing about being on a motorbike that I never really considered before. After I get used to holding onto Adam’s waist, and I stop gripping him quite so tightly, I find I actually quite enjoy our journey together. We could be riding through a series of the picture postcards that are for sale outside many of the tourist shops in Cambridge. First we ride through the quaint streets of Grantchester, with its pretty thatched cottages and houses frozen in time, then back into the city, past the college sports grounds, over the river, past some of the famous universities and the Fitzwilliam Museum, and then finally back into Clockmaker Court.
The others are already waiting for us as we walk the last part of our journey, with Adam pushing his motorbike along the pedestrian-only street of King’s Parade. Their faces are a mixture of surprise and amusement as I quickly explain the situation, and why Adam is here with me. I know what they’re thinking as we gather in the café to share some of Rocky’s homemade birthday cake, but, to their credit, no one makes any jokes about me bringing a plus-one to the party or anything like that. They all know me well enough by now to know this is purely a business arrangement and nothing more. But I can’t help notice some of the females in our gathering casting admiring glances in Adam’s direction. Luca, too, seems particularly smitten by our unexpected guest.
After everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to both me and to Adam, a few of us depart to our local pub, The Timekeeper, for some after-work drinks.
I love The Timekeeper – it’s a traditional old-fashioned pub, but slap bang in the centre of Cambridge. Antique brass and copperware hang from the dark wood timbers, and in between, on the uneven whitewashed walls, old paintings and black-and-white photographs tell tales of times gone by. Apparently, servicemen and -women from both Britain and the US used to frequent the pub during the Second World War, and some of the photographs reflect this, showing service personnel both enjoying a drink in their down time, and, more formally, in front of aircraft and on manoeuvres at the local Duxford airfield.
‘I might have to start doing house clearances if that’s what you find on them,’ Luca says, looking admiringly in Adam’s direction once more as we stand at the old-fashioned bar together waiting to order our latest round of drinks. He smooths his hand over his dark, immaculately arranged hair.
I follow Luca’s gaze. ‘Notyourusual type, Luca,’ I tell him, quickly turning my head back to the bar. ‘I thought you liked a well-kept man?
’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of rough, my darling,’ Luca says, his dark Italian eyes glinting mischievously. ‘Even you must be able to appreciate that.
’
‘I’d hardly call Adam rough,’ I say, for some reason feeling the need to defend him. ‘He’s just a bit rock and roll.
’ I feel Luca’s eyes upon me.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Rockandroll?’ Luca says, rolling his Rs dramatically.
‘What do you know of rock and roll? Wedgwood and Doulton, perhaps?’
